March of the Winter
by cellardoor
Summary: Nothing had made it through the night nothing had made it through the storm I called 'Sophia'. Jess, broken, unable to move, questions life, love, and death. Lit. OneParter.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own Gilmore Girls, never have, never will…

**AN:** Inspired by BrightEyes, "No Lies, Just Love". Hope you all are well, enjoy.

---

When did this happen to me? When had I become so weak? When did I start letting people take advantage of me? Ha. When did I start letting my ex-girlfriend beat up on me? When did I die? Questions that remained un-answered, questions that made me want to cry, questions that would never be answered, just left floating through time like lost souls…

            I opened my eyes, my head resting against my shoulder- it was heavy, too heavy to move. The door to my apartment remained open from the previous night. I continued to sit, afraid to move, afraid of the pain it would cause, my body black, I could feel it. I stared out the door, sixteen hours and no one had passed by yet. Not one person had come or gone, not one person has passed by the frame glancing in, wondering why the door was open in the first place. No one knew who I was, no one cared.

            I shifted my eyes glancing around my now destroyed apartment. Nothing had made it through the night- nothing had made it through the storm I called 'Sophia'. Shattered glass covered the floor, every CD- every Record I ever owned was broken- mixed in with the glass. The couch was torn apart, the kitchen smashed, the glasses broken along with the plates, the cabinets left open, the table turned over, the chairs missing legs, everything had been destroyed, and for what? We had broken up nearly one year ago. My head fell forward and then rolled to the side, I moved my eyes towards my most beloved treasure, the bookcase. When I saw it my heart skipped a beat, I thought for sure I was having a mild hear attack, it was empty. Not one book remained on the shelves, _"A room without books, is like a body without a soul,"_ I couldn't have said it better myself, I was sure I was dying. I closed my eyes, pitch black, everything black, I forced my head to roll a little towards the left, and there a pile of ashes sat in the fire place, every cover, every page, every word… destroyed.

            "Please," I had pleaded, she held books upon books in her hands, I could read some of my favorite titles, the bindings facing me, she smiled and tossed them into the fire, I shook my head, and buried it deep into my hands, I didn't expect for her to burn them all, but I should have know, I was giving her more credit then she deserved- for some reason I couldn't bring myself to fight back.

            She made her way into the kitchen clearing the counters with one swift swipe of her arm, the counter tops now spotless, on the floor lay the ruins of what used to my appliances. The ones that I never used, but none-the-less enjoyed having and looked at every morning as I got ready for work.

            "Sophia! Stop!" I grabbed her arm with force and she turned to face me, I thought there would be fear in her eyes, I knew I was hurting her, my hand was turning white from squeezing so hard, but instead there was anger and hate, her eyes burned into mine, instead fear was written all over me, I knew what she was capable of, she knew I couldn't hurt her, I let her go, and she glared at me before moving on.

            I turned swiftly to watch her, she was like a Hurricane, destroying everything in her path, not caring what damage was done, and who was hurt along the way.

            "That's Justin's," I pointed to the glass figurine of 'Casper' in her hand. Casper. It was his nickname since he was a child, for as long as I could remember, and he's been collecting memorabilia since he was five when his mother first gave him a small Happy Meal toy of the friendly ghost.

            She glanced at it, and I saw that wicked smile grow across her face. She didn't care whose it was, all she cared about was how much damage she could do in the least amount of time. She glanced up at me as she raised her arm and threw it against the wall. It shattered when it hit, and I cringed.

            "Why are you doing this?" I inquired.

            "As if you don't know," she countered.

            I shrugged, "I don't know," I shook my head, I really didn't know, "You are insane you know that?"

            She laughed, "Don't play stupid Jess Mariano, you don't deserve any of this," she motioned to everything in the apartment and picked up a frame off the small glass table sitting directly to her left.

            "Please not that," I tried to grab it from her, she already destroyed most of my books, she would do the rest after I passed out, but for now, while I was conscious, I wanted to save what I could, even though I knew I couldn't, she dropped it- as I figured she would- sending it soaring into a million devastated pieces.

            I closed my eyes, I wanted to rid the images from my mind, but the remnants of last night lingered throughout the apartment, I could still smell her. I still couldn't move. I let my head roll back and it landed roughly against the wall behind me, the wall that supported me. A breeze suddenly slithered through the broken window and it ran its cold fingers through my hair, a strand fell on my forehead causing an itch. I wanted to scream, I wanted to scratch it…I wanted to die. I heard something slide across the floor and moving only my eyes I watched as a piece of paper swept across the broken glass and rested in front of me. March 21st it said. Today.

            For everyone else today was just another day, the last day of winter, the last day of snow, the last day for snowmen, and snowball fights. For me March 21st was a nightmare. It was my birthday. 'Happy Birthday' people sang- there was nothing happy about it. There was nothing to celebrate- instead it was just a constant reminder of the day that I was brought into this cold harsh world. I came as a surprise to both my parents, my mother not ready to be a mother, and my father to coward to face the truth. I came with disappointed written all over my bare warm body. The only time I was ever warm, I should have known this wasn't where I wanted to be. That was seventeen years ago. This world is hard, and cold, it's violent, and bright, and I don't belong. There is no one to keep me warm, no one to love me, or for me to love. But none-the-less I was born- and I grew up. I grew up to resent my mother and never know my father, just a name. Seventeen years and I have nothing to show for it, no high school diploma, no plans, no idea where to go or what to be, no one to stand by my side and encourage me in whatever I choose to do, I have nothing… no one to live for… and when you have nothing, you have nothing to lose.

            March 21st. My birthday. The day I was brought into this world, and the day that I would leave it. I continued to sit against the wall, my back now warm from leaning against it for nearly sixteen hours. I inhaled deeply, and the pain was over-baring. A cracked rib- I broken one? something hurt. I could feel the blood trickling down my face, there was a cut- it stung, my body was numb, but I could feel the cut on my eyebrow like it was burrowing its way into my skull, I wanted to cry.

            As my eyes shifted from the piece of paper that lay in front of me up to the window where the snow was falling quietly- like angels from heaven, coming down to save me, to take me away from this hell- I noticed something else.

            Lying among the horror from last night, were my broken records. Small pieces, scattered everywhere, sharp enough to cut hair, sharp enough to cut through skin, they mocked me. The music that I loved, the lyrics I sang along to, the songs that kept me alive, now calling out to me to die.

            The itch was eating me alive, so closing my eyes, and trying to relax, not thinking about the pain- I brought my hand up to scratch my forehead. I could feel the inches of dirt and sweat that had molded to my face over night. As I brought my hand back down to rest it on the floor I stopped it when it reached eye level. It was covered in blood- painfully it reminded me when I was five- kindergarten- Mrs. Grubbs class- the first and only time I ever played with finger paint. The red paint covered my hands like gloves, it was on my face, my shirt, my shoes, I pretended I had got shot as I stumbled around the classroom, running into the boys, and grabbing onto the girls, I finally fell over, playing dead, and for a split moment, in my five year old mind, I had wished to be truly dead. I glanced from my bloody hand, to the broken record, back to the blood, then to my wrist, and resting my eyes once again on the record piece. I finally knew how to make the pain go away.

            I wanted to reach out for the broken record, but something was holding me back- and it wasn't the fact that I couldn't move. I had wanted to die, and I easily could have found the strength to do it. Instead I thought about the aftermath, what would people think of me? What would they say? That I was weak, a disappointment, a failure, I didn't care- because they were all the truth, and I knew it…but to the ones that I loved, and that loved me with just an inch of their hearts, I couldn't leave the questions unanswered. I couldn't let them go on living blaming themselves.

A note. There was always a note.

            I reached out in front of me- the paper that had come to make a home in front of where I sat would do just fine. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a pen from my previous night at work. I had lost the cap yesterday afternoon so that was one less task I would have to deal with- finally luck was on my side, even if it was as simple as a pen cap gone missing.

            The paper stuck to my hand, my bloody finger prints now forever stained the pure white paper. Weak and shaking I lifted the pen, and I was already at a standstill. Who did I make it out to? Who cared what happened to me? The police that would take the report? My father who ran out on me? My mother who probably would let out a sigh of relief upon hearing of my death? Or perhaps Sophia, the one who caused this pain, the one that pushed me over the edge, the one that I spent years of my life dedicated to, the one that is responsible? No. And then it struck me, the one who would care, the one whose heart would break, the one that I should go on living for… Justin.

            My hand trembled as I began to write his name. My once crisp clean neat writing, looking like the work of a ninety year old man with arthritis- I could barely make out his name. "_Justin_…" is all it said, but I could already feel a weight lifting off my shoulders.

"_It's not your fault_…" I forced the letters onto the paper, "_You've been good to me, the only one_…" I had to stop and rest, my hand already tired, my arm aching, the bruises growing across my body, I had to hurry, the record was singing to me, "_It's just lately I've been feeling like I don't belong, lately as in the last seventeen years… this world is cold, and its not nice, its never been nice to me, it never gave me a chance, it tried to swallow me, yelling at me that the ground that was beneath me was not mine to walk upon… and so I'm doing it a favor… tell my uncle Luke its not his fault either_…" I paused- I hadn't thought about Luke before any of this- my uncle that came to visit once a year since I was born- the only person in my family who I truly respected. He wouldn't understand any of this, but he deserved an answer as did Justin… "_So please forgive what I have done, I could apologize a million times, but by this time it's too late. Its just we all get tired eventually and there is nothing left to do but sleep… the eternal sleep. I love you_…" and then I signed my name.

            Glancing at the paper, trying to re-read it, I found it difficult. My eyes were heavy- my head droopy, my hand writing looking as if I had never learned the alphabet- I hope he could read it.

            I continued to sit, leaning against the wall. I wasn't ready to move. Knowing that it would all soon be over, made the pain fade away for just awhile.

            I wanted to take everything in one last time, I wanted to remember my apartment for the way it was, the little things I liked about it, like the painting on the door and the walls. Whoever had lived here before me was an artist, when they ran out of canvas like a child they drew on the walls. Beautiful pictures of whatever was on there mind. Pop art, like Andy Warhol, colorful, and bright, over the years of living here, I too contributed to the walls, writing down my favorite quotes from books that went with the pictures. I loved the way the kitchen was, it was raised from the rest of the apartment and a bar separated it from the living room. It was a cheap place, but it was my home. The fire escape that I spent countless nights sitting on, staring out at the neon lights, and listening to the sounds below- the hole that I punched in the wall when Sophia told me she was leaving me. I later covered it up with my dresser, not wanting Justin to see it. I loved the sink in the bathroom- it stood alone, with a mirror above it. The sink was the perfect height, it came up to my waist and my hands could easily rest upon it as I prepared my toothbrush, or was getting ready to shave. It was the little things I loved the most, like the light switch that when switched up was off, and down was on. The window that had become worn over the years- and on windy nights would hiss. The cracked tile in front of the refrigerator- from my head- I was drunk, passed out, and hit the floor. Hard.

            As my eyes wandered to accept the kitchen for what it now was, I glanced up, noticing something on top of the refrigerator. The one thing that made it through the night, so beautiful, so alone- there it sat, a flower resting in a vase. Not a crack in the glass, not a finger smudge, nothing, it was beautiful, the sunlight from the window reflecting upon it. It was a sign, a flower, spring, life.I squinted my eyes, straining them to look harder, to see it for everything it was, "huh" I heard myself say aloud. My body fell limp again and I closed my eyes. What I thought to be a good sign, was no sign at all. I wanted to cry. It was as if I was looking for something to hold onto, but this was like nails to a coffin, I was surrounded by death, and petals rested around the vase- a withering wilting flower dying above them. It was a sign, a flower, winter, death. The flower so helpless, so innocent, so honest, waiting to die, like me-- I _was_ the flower. Suddenly I hated the flower. I wanted nothing more but to stand up, and crush it in the palm of my hand. Like me it was once so beautiful and full of life, basking in the sunlight, enjoying every minute. And that is how I wanted to be remembered. Alive, and the colorful beauty that I once was, not this wreck that I have become. Not this person who has taken over my body, not this withering wilting flower.

            Suddenly I was afraid of death, I was afraid to die, but it was the only way I knew how to get rid of the pain. Sitting there, waiting there, I didn't have the energy to crawl across the floor and pick up the record in my hand- even then I don't think I would be strong enough to break the skin. My eyes closed, and everything became black, I felt my body slump over as my head hit the floor. I was out.

            The sun was heating up the apartment like an oven. Yesterday snow, Today sun. Funny how Mother Nature works. Yesterday winter, Today spring. The suns rays covered my body, and only my body, the rest of the apartment was black, still in the dark. It was then that I decided I would give myself a few more days. Say my 'good-byes' and 'I love yous'. I bet no one ever put this much thought into their own death. It shouldn't be something to rationalize, or to doubt, it should just happen, naturally. Suicide wasn't natural. My health however- which seemed be deteriorating- was.

            And then my salvation came, quite suddenly too I might add. I heard footsteps out in the hall. Unaware that the door was already open, they took there time. I watched patiently, curious as to who was making their way down the hall? Someone I knew? Someone I didn't? Someone who would stop short of my apartment and I would be left a few more days? My roommate? My roommate. Justin.

            I saw his foot in the doorway before the rest of his body, I wanted to shout and scream to him, but I couldn't, I just didn't have the energy. He made his way into the doorframe and froze. He didn't see me, he just saw the mess. His head slowly turned, taking everything in, everything I owned, everything he owned, destroyed. He slowly made his way in, walking first into the living room- he stepped on shards of shattered glass, being careful as to not cut himself. He saw the bookcase and the fire place, he saw the picture frames, and the TV, the table, everything but me. How could he not see me? I watched as his eyes grew huge as he noticed something small in the corner under the window. He walked over quickly, and bent down slowly. Staying down I saw his head shake, there in his hands was his Casper, the one his ex-girlfriend had given him. His ex-girlfriend who had since passed on. His ex-girlfriend who he was going to marry, his ex-girlfriend who he would never get over, knowing that she had been robbed of her life. I could see the tears begin to build in his eyes. He was weak like me.

            I moved my foot against the floor, moving the glass that was under my foot barely- but enough to make a noise. Justin shot up, standing tall and thin, his head whipped around to where I was. Sticking the head of his broken Casper into his pocket he rushed over to my side.

            "Jess," he fell to the floor beside me.

            I looked at him with my heavy eyes. My eyes that I was sure were black and blue, the blood on my face beginning to dry. I screamed at him with my eyes. I screamed for help! I screamed for life, I screamed because of the pain.

            "Here hold on," he tried to wrap my arm around his neck to move me somewhere more comfortable but I flinched, and sucked in air between my teeth. He set me back down, now afraid to touch me.

            He looked back down into my eyes, "Can you talk?"

            I couldn't nod my head, "yeah" I mumbled almost silently.

            He could see the bruises on my arms, the scratches on my cheeks, the cut on my neck, he saw the deep gash on my eyebrow, and the blood on my hands, what he didn't see was the bump where my rib was broken, or the bruises and cuts that covered my back, my torso and my legs, even my feet were bruised. Sophia would have killed me if given the chance. He stepped back to get a good look at me. I knew him, he wouldn't call for help, and he knew me, I didn't want him to. We would deal with this in our own way, like the many mild cases before this one. As he stepped back, his feet crunched smoothly against the broken glass, but he heard something else as well, I crinkle, looking down he saw a piece of paper, March 21st it said, covered in blood. He bent down and picked it up, unaware that I had written on the back.

            "Your birthday," I heard him mumble, he looked down at me, "Happy birthday huh?" he smiled.

            It hurt like a hell, but a small grin spread across my face, "yeah," I sighed, "happy birthday."      

            He unconsciously turned the paper over, he froze in his place as he saw his name scribbled across the top, and began to read, glancing down at me every two seconds or so. I wanted to disappear, to fade away- he wasn't supposed to read that, not yet.

            "Jess?"

            I couldn't look up at him, and even if I could, I wouldn't have, "it's nothing," I muttered.

            "_Jess_ this isn't nothing," I hated when he said my name like that, we were best friends, we were like brothers, we were the same person, but the disappointment in his voice when he said my name like that made me wish I had done it.

            "Well I'm here aren't I? And besides it is my decision," this is the point where I would have run away from him. Where I would grab the letter from his hands, and storm passed him, telling him it was none of his business.

            "Yeah it is your decision," he plainly spoke, "But just so you know, if you decide to do go through with this… if you decide to leave, I'll be soon to follow."

            I wanted so badly to look up at him. So he could see in my eyes that that was the last thing in the world I would ever want. He had to stay here on earth, and be all the things that I never could be. He was two years younger then me, only fifteen, but smart as hell, he was always like a little brother, he looked up to me, and I wanted nothing more but to set a good example, but I failed at that years ago.

            He didn't even look at me- instead he made his way to the tattered couch, and sat down on it. He disappeared behind the cushions, forgetting that I was even there.

            "Justin-" I spoke as loudly as I could.

            I saw his head appear over the top of the couch from the corner of my eye, and he looked at me. Forcing my head to turn I looked at him, "What?" he countered, "Its okay for you but not okay for me?"

            "Exactly," I wanted to hug him, I wanted him to know that he had choices, and opportunities, that he didn't have to end up like me.

            He disappeared back behind the couch, and silence once again filled the apartment.

            I stared at the back of the torn yellow couch. It was the first thing I bought when I first moved in here. A couch, it made sense. I didn't need a bed, I could sleep on the couch, if company came over, they had a couch to sit on, if someone wanted to crash, they could take the couch. When Justin first came to me, needing a place to stay, I had a bed by then, I handed my couch down to him. It was his bed for almost 6 months before he could afford a bed of his very own. Before all of this I would sometimes get up in the middle of the night, my throat dry in dire need of water, and I would find him sleeping on the couch. Something he never got over, the couch was his first bed, the first place he ever felt home, his safety blanket, something his bed was not.

            Used to the silence, I heard more footsteps, a whole day had passed and not one person came down this hallway, and now within less then an hour someone else was making their way in my direction. It was a female, I could tell by the way their feet flittered across the floor, not hard like Justin's had been. I knew who it was too, I could smell her already, she smelled of lavender.

            She knocked on the doorframe. Justin hadn't closed it because of the shock when he first saw the apartment. She too froze, her arm falling down to her side. She lifted her hand to her mouth, not noticing me, but glancing over at Justin.

            "What happened?" she made her way slowly into the apartment, glancing down at the glass as she stepped across it.

            "Sophia." I mumbled from my spot on the floor where Justin had left me, where Justin was going to leave me.

            She turned to look at me, afraid. She turned back to Justin, his eyes were open staring at her, realizing he was fine, she rushed to my side, I knew I forgot someone, her name belonged on the top of the note as well, "Oh my god," she bent down next to me, holding my head in her hands, forcing it to look at her, she rubbed her thumb across my gash and it already felt better.

            "I'll be fine," my voice was hoarse, and scratchy.

            "You don't look like you'll be fine," she cleared the glass next to me with her hand, carefully as to not cut herself, and sat down next to me. She loved me, I could see it in her eyes.

            "I always am," I could tell she wanted so badly to rest her head on my shoulder, but she knew I was in pain. But I had wanted her to, she made everything better, she was like a mothers kiss. Any wound that a mother kissed automatically felt better, that was Rory, a kiss, a savior, my rescuer, her and Justin.

            "Jess?" she watched as I mustered up whatever energy was left inside me and used it to tilt my head to look at her.

            "Huh?" I asked, still fully aware that Justin was on the couch listening to everything that we were saying, and was about to be said.

            "I know now isn't the best time," she smiled, we both new it was a perfect time, "But I really need to talk to you," It was the best time ever, whatever she had to say, she knew I couldn't follow her if she chose to leave, she knew I couldn't run away, she had found me at my utmost weakest. Lucky her.

            "Hey Justin, do you think-" he cut me off when he popped back over the couch.

            "Already on it," he stood up, looking down at Rory and I on the floor, he missed this with his girlfriend, I could see it in his eyes, "I'll start cleaning up, starting with the bedroom," he began to make his way out of the room, when he turned around, and called out to me, "Hey Jess?" he didn't wait for me respond, "This," he held up a bloody piece of paper, "I'm keeping it."

            And with that he wandered off down the hallway, towards the bedrooms.

            "What was that?" Rory turned her attention back to me.

            She didn't need to know, I just looked at her, unresponsive, it didn't matter what it was, because it was Justin's now.

            "So?" I was growing impatient. I had been down here on this floor for almost two days now, I hadn't moved, except for when Justin sat me back up. There was nothing for me to do, no where for me to go, but I could feel as my energy was slowly making its way back into my body.

            She avoided all eye contact with me, glancing out the open door that I had stared out of hours before her, she inhaled deeply, and let it back out slowly, she played with her hands, rubbing them together as if they were cold. I knew they weren't, they had their full color. Her nails were short, undone, not polished, no jewels, nothing, just plain, some had calcium spots, others were perfect, she brought her right hand up to her mouth and began to chew on it, "I'm pregnant," she spat out, soon wishing that I was healthy so I could react. A part of her wanted me to run, a part of her wanted me to be angry, to cry, and shut her out, but I couldn't do any of that, even if I wanted to, all I could do was sit there, and force my head to look away from her.

            She didn't look at me, she wouldn't look at me, she couldn't look at me. She started out the door, chewing on her nail. If I could move I would have got up and done who knows what, but I wouldn't be still right now, I would pace, sit on the couch, stand in the doorframe, make a drink, anything but sit here in this silence, unsure what is going on in her mind. I couldn't move, I didn't have a choice, she did, but she didn't, I don't know why, I knew she was uncomfortable, she could have ran, but she didn't, she could have at least got up, or looked at me, anything but sit there staring out the door.

            Using my hands I slowly lowered myself onto her lap. She was smiling- I could feel run throughout her body. Her fingers found their way into my hair, they caressed my scalp and soon found there way to the hair next to my ear. She twirled it in her fingers, wrapping it around her finger over and over until it stayed in a coil. She reminded me of my cousin, the last time I saw her I was fourteen and she was three, my dads sisters little girl, she loved being around me, I'm not sure why- maybe because I played with her, but I only saw her once a year. When she got tired she used to crawl into my lap and while sucking her thumb she would play with my ear, rubbing it softly until she fell completely asleep. But at this moment, Rory was innocent like my cousin, she found comfort in my hair, and at a time like this, I didn't seem to care.

            Using every ounce of energy that was in me I forced my body to shift so that I could look at her. I wouldn't be able to move for another two days, but I wanted to see her eyes. As I lay there in her lap, my head facing hers, she brushed my hair off my forehead, not caring about the blood, or the dirt, or the sweat. It was soothing, and I wanted nothing more but for her to kiss me. To hold me, and make me warm again, I wanted to stay in that moment forever, even in this pain, I could have stayed right there for the rest of my life, but she didn't kiss me, instead she moved her hand across my face over to the right side of it, I leaned into it, my face warming to her touch, she was so gentle, she made me want to be here. I watched as the expression on her face changed and she glanced down my body.

During all the shifting I had done my shirt had come up above my waist line revealing just a small splinter of my side. She saw the bruises and the scratches that covered my body, so black she didn't know how I could stand to move.

"We have to get you to a hospital," she once again began brushing hair back against my head.

            And then it hit me, I had something to live for, _someone_ to live for, two someone's to live for counting her, three someone's to live for counting Justin.

            Cocking my head to the side I glanced at her stomach, "So there's a baby in there?"

            She shook her head vigorously up and down as a smile spread across her face, "yeah," she whispered through her teeth.

            "Huh," is all that seemed to come out of my mouth. I placed my hand onto her stomach ever so slowly, she watched as I did this.

Her hand soon followed, and she gently placed it on top of mine. I looked up at her- she was giving me an 'okay' with her eyes.

I returned my attention to her stomach, lame I know, but there was just something about knowing that there was a life growing inside of her, "Hi in there," I was talking to her stomach, and yet I didn't feel stupid doing it, "I hope its not too warm in there," she looked at me, unsure where I was going with this, "Because its cold out here…" I blinked a few times, "and it will be quite a shock, to breath this air, and discover loss," Rory was listening to me intently now, and although I was talking to the baby, I was talking for her, I wanted her to know everything, "So I'd like to make some changes before you arrive, so when your new eyes meet mine, they wont see no lies… just love."

Rory looked down at me at that moment, "Jess-" she started to choke on her words.

            It was then that I realized I had everything I ever wanted to live for, new life, love, warmth, it was all there staring me hard in the face…and it was right then that I saw it… the flower sitting on top of the refrigerator basking in the sun light once again, standing straight and tall, petals shining bright.     


End file.
